Her Favorite Son
by SiRiUsLyInLuV71
Summary: Walburga Black’s thoughts before she burned Sirius’ name off of the Black Tapestry.


Title: Her Favorite Son

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Summary: Walburga Black's thoughts before she burned Sirius' name off of the Black  
Tapestry.

Warnings: None

Rating: K+

Her Favorite Son

She stared blankly at the Black tapestry in front of her, and it mimicked the same in return. The precise detail, the expressions, the personalities, all stared back at her. Several of the painted faces sneered importantly, while others posed gracefully, but some just stood in the tapestry completely immobile.

The invariable haughtiness, confidence, and arrogance reflected in their similar transparent eyes. To her, they would all look like the same person if their names weren't neatly scrawled on the bottom of the tapestry. Beauty, grace, and power imitated from the miniature portraits. The Black's were royalty, and those who weren't fit for royalty, were removed from the tapestry.

Imperfection didn't fit in the tapestry; the Black's were perfection at it's finest. They were above the rest; they were like gods, invincible, indestructible, and almighty. The other Pure-Blood families didn't compare to them, they weren't royalty, they didn't possess extreme riches, they didn't have infinite beauty gifted to them; in short they weren't Black's. The beautiful blood of the Black's didn't pass through their veins insuring them a life of royalty. No, no one compared to the Black's, they were elite, they were one of a kind.

Her wrinkled hand touched the tapestry, and she could almost feel the power radiating from her fore-fathers. Her eyes locked with a painting underneath her own, and she could feel her heart wrenching in her chest. Her thin fingers traced the outline of her son's face. Immediately, her usually expressionless gray eyes watered, and tears threatened to spill.

He had the same beauty that the Black's possessed, only his beauty outshined them all. The same look of haughtiness reflected in his eyes, as well as the gifted grace that only a few of the Black men possess. He was truly remarkable; she could easily distinguish him from the other portraits, he was so much like the others, yet, not like them at all.

His startling gray eyes reflected mischief, intelligence, and recklessness. A hint of a smile was playing at the corner of his mouth; it was almost as if he was hiding a secret. He looked happy, carefree, completely unlike the other sneering faces.

To her, Sirius was perfection. She loved him very deeply. Although she never showed it, or let it be known, Sirius was always her favorite son. Regulus never compared to him. Sure, she loved Regulus, but Sirius was her baby. Sirius was her first son, and no matter how much she denied it, she loved him inexplicably.

She still couldn't figure out where she went wrong. What had she done to deserve this from him? He was her life, he was everything to her. And yet he left her alone in this house, without a second look back. She begged him to return, and Black's never beg. She wept endlessly for him, and Black's never wept. She even wanted to accept the fact that he was different, and Black's never accept. She would have given up everything to have him back, but no, he never looked her way, never returned her owls, he never loved her.

Her heart, her soul, and her mind were Sirius. Her baby, her first born, her reason for living was gone. What was she? She was nothing, she felt less than dead, Walburga was just a body waiting to die. All her happiness was snatched so cruelly from her, and she couldn't do anything to correct what happened.

It didn't help that Regulus was a constant reminder of him. The same stormy eyes, the same thin lips, the same thin face, and the same barking laughter. Every time she looked at Regulus, she would see a reflection of her first born in his eyes. It hurt her physically to look at Regulus, knowing that she would probably die without Sirius ever looking back at her again.

In a sudden wave of emotion she felt hatred, nothing but hatred for her family. Never in her life had she resented being a Black, but the loss of her first son had sent her over the edge. She hated the whole lot of them; she blamed them for Sirius leaving home. It was their entire fault.

Bitter tears rolled down her wrinkled face as she continued to trace his portrait with her hand. A part of her wanted to go crawling to the Potter's house, begging for Sirius to come back, but also that same part of her knew that Sirius would never return. Sirius hadn't considered her family since he was twelve, and it hurt her deeply to finally admit it to herself.

Although she loved Sirius with all her heart and more, she knew that her son never cared for her. If he loved her, even a little, he would have never left home. But he left, and he also left behind a broken woman who is nothing without her first born child.

More tears fell from her eyes, and Walburga was mildly surprised that she wasn't sobbing by now. A shaking hand delved into her breast pocket, pulling out her wand. Her eyes closed automatically, she couldn't bare look at the horrible thing she was about to do.

Her wand pointed at the smiling face of Sirius, and Walburga couldn't help but take one last glance at his beautiful face. Closing her eyes once more, and hating herself for doing this, she muttered "Incendio".

* * *

The room was exactly as he had last seen it, the draperies, the huge chandelier, the king sized bed, even the photographs of the topless muggle women. He didn't understand. Why were his possessions still there? After sixteen years, the room looked exactly as it had the last time he ever set foot in it. Even his scent lingered in the air; the smell of cologne, fire-whiskey, and cigarettes.

Every other room in the house had been tarnished, all except for his room. Nothing seemed out of place. Not even a speck of dust littered on the hardwood floors, the room was as magnificent as he had last seen it.

He felt lump in his throat, as he stared around the room, trying to figure out what all of this meant. Why weren't his possessions destroyed? He figured the first thing his family would do after he left was offer his room to Regulus, but no, it was exactly as it was before. Or were they disgusted to enter his room, knowing that a filthy blood traitor lived in it? If that was the case, then why wasn't his room covered in filth like the rest of the house? He had no answers.

Unwillingly in his mind, a picture of his mother came into view. Sirius knew deep down that no matter how much resentment his mother had shown him, she had loved him dearly. He figured that she cast a spell around room to make sure his presence in the house was never forgotten. A sad smile crossed his pale and waxy face as he remembered her.

A headstrong, defiant, and utterly beautiful woman. Her hair always wrapped in a tight bun, that pulled her eyebrows back, making her seem severe, when in actuality she was beautiful. He could barely remember a time when he had seen his mother wear her hair down.

Slowly, Sirius walked further into his room, reaching his dresser. Sighing loudly, he pulled open the last drawer. It was empty, save a moving picture. He smiled ruefully as his tattooed hand reached for the long forgotten picture that lay in his drawer. His eyes scanned the picture, almost hungrily; as he tried to remember the last time he looked at it.

A picture of a thin woman with very pale skin, and bright gray eyes was staring back him, smiling, her white teeth glowing in the light, and her hair falling gracefully around her face. She was holding a baby about five months old in her arms. Every few seconds her eyes would flicker back to the baby in her arms, and she would plant a kiss on his forehead, and look back up at him.

He remembered the last time he held this picture. It was on the night that he left Grimmauld Place forever.

He could vividly remember himself weeping over that particular picture, debating if he should take it with him, or leave it in the dusty drawer. But in the end his pride won over, he left the picture in the drawer to rot.

Looking at the picture now, Sirius couldn't stop the tears that welled from his eyes, knowing that he would never see his mother again. A small part of him wished he would have said goodbye before he left.

_But no matter how much he pretended he hated her, he loved her, and for that he hated himself._

* * *

**_A/N: This was very emotional for me to write. I understand a lot of people will not agree with the interpretation of Walburga Black, but I truly think that she dearly loved Sirius. Just because she is a pure-blood supremacist, it does not mean she hates Sirius. She just resented what he stood for, and being a Gryffindor Sirius resented her. Well, that's what I think anyway. This fic is also dedicated to Ooosk, who has inspired me to delve deep into the beautiful family of Black. Also as promised I will have my Bella/Sirius fic out soon, just as soon as I create the ending for it. Please review and tell me what you think._**


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